


Something in our skies

by girlupnorth



Series: A song of ice and fire: No time for wolves [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:37:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlupnorth/pseuds/girlupnorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-off companion piece to <i>No time for wolves</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something in our skies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leseparatist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leseparatist/gifts).



> Set in _No Time For Wolves_ -verse, around four years after NTFW.
> 
> The title obviously comes from David Bowie's _The Heart's Filthy Lesson_.

I

That year spring arrived with a grey sky and heavy rainfalls. For days they would keep to the castle walls, complaining about this capricious winter weather. Then, one day, going from her chambers towards the Hand’s quarters, Daenerys realized the change in the air. This was no winter anymore, but spring – so timid that it would rather keep one step behind than come into full view.

“Spring always carries with it such a blissful feeling of innocence, wouldn’t you say?” she told Sansa upon entering her rooms.

“You’ve been reading too much poetry, Your Grace,” replied Sansa, feigning concern, and they both laughed.

Within days, their sons found the first violets in the gardens: a true sign of spring. Soon enough the King’s Landing’s port was filled with ships from the East, able to cross the sea for the first time since the beginning of winter storms those many months ago. The ships brought finest Eastern fabrics and threads, wine and spices, flowers and fruit. Above all, however, they brought politics, which spoiled Daenerys’ mood.

The envoys had already been reluctant to talk to her in the previous years. This time, however, they went to the trouble of avoiding her entirely, asking for private audiences with Jon.

“They believe politics is not a woman’s business, khaleesi,” Irri, the last remaining of her Eastern handmaids told her eventually.

Daenerys took a deep breath, but held her temper.

“I’m not khaleesi anymore, Irri,” she said, half-expecting Irri to protest; however the only answer was a quiet “Yes”, and a small bow.

“They call me the Mother of Dragons, and back away,” Daenerys told Sansa after a few more days of the Easterners’ visit. She was trying on new gowns, brought by the merchant ships, and quite soon was changing them in a growing fury. “Do you know why? Because I’m too good a queen. I’m only a woman for them now, and they expect me to take care only of womanly matters, while the _Black Dragon_ -” she threw a piece of ribbon to the floor “-disputes about debts and alliances and peace. _Gods_!”

“Leave the debts to the king, and the Master of the Coin,” said Sansa, as Daenerys’ maid laced the gown on her back. “They are a most tiresome affair.”

“And the peace?” asked Daenerys, gazing into the mirror. Somehow, the dress did not look good on her.

“Well,” said Sansa, and Daenerys noticed her smile in the mirror. “The question to ask ourselves is, who took the dragon East during the last war?” She came to stand by Daenerys’ side. “The East is still yours, whomever the envoys might confer with.”

Daenerys smiled. “Thank you,” she said. After one more look into the mirror, she turned to Sansa. “Clearly, this gown hasn’t been cut with me in mind,” she said, pointing out how the fabric laid around her waist. “And this green. It would look much better on you.”

“Her Grace may be right,” said the maid.

Sansa looked at the dress for a moment, and then shrugged. “If Her Grace says so,” she said.

Having taken off the unwanted garment, Daenerys put a dressing gown around her arms and watched as her maid helped Sansa out of her dress, and into the green one.

As could have been expected, Sansa was absolutely beautiful in the gown, with green bringing out her hair and emphasizing her eyes. However, the sight that stayed with Daenerys for days was that of Sansa in the thin white petticoat, closely fitting around her breasts and waist, of the trail of small freckles just above the petticoat’s hem.

“You look lovely,” she said at Sansa’s inquiry about the gown. “You must keep it.”

 

II

It was a month later when Daenerys watched Jon and his army march out of King’s Landing towards the Reach, in response to the Tyrrell attack.

“He ought to take the dragon,” she said to Sansa, thinking with annoyance that Rhaegal really could have found a better time for laying an egg. “It would end the matter at once.”

“It will be over soon enough,” said Sansa soothingly, and Daenerys wondered, as she often did, what was the source of Sansa’s calmness.

Lord Petyr had left to gather forces from the River Lords just a day prior. Alone in the castle, they thought themselves safe despite the budding war, and went about their usual pursuits.

The raid caught them by surprise. But for Daenerys’ people’s quick reactions, it would have ended in more bloodshed. As it was, it ended in three slain guardians, eight slain enemies, and one captive, a Frey.

“It’s a pity we cannot kill him,” said Daenerys wistfully, before going down to the dungeons.

“We probably shouldn’t,” replied Sansa with a sigh. She was looking pale after the sleepless night. “Still. Since we have him here, we might as well make use of it…” She paused, and took a breath. “Why don’t have him tortured? He may know something that will be of use to us.”

Daenerys smiled.

“You are right,” she said, and called for a guardian.

Sansa was right. The man, initially quiet, became cooperative in the end, and sang them a pretty song about the Freys’ involvement in the plot.

“And I don’t even have an army to take West,” said Daenerys. They were standing high up on the walls, looking over the buzzing city.

“You have your people, and Drogon,” replied Sansa at once. “And Rhaegal, possibly. If there’s an army gathered at the Twins, you could still burn it down.”

They took some time going over the details and once they were done, Daenerys called for her men, and explained to them the plan.

“Till the morning, then,” she told them in the end, and they bowed, and left. From their expressions she could tell that they shared the same strange excitement that Daenerys herself felt at this war talk.

“It will be over soon,” she said to Sansa when they were left alone again in the chamber, and Sansa smiled at this turn of the phrase.

 _Her eyes are bluer than the sky, how come I’ve never noticed?_

Sansa’s spring dresses were cut lower than the ones she wore in winter, and Daenerys turned her eyes again to that teasing row of freckles on Sansa’s collarbone. When she looked up, Sansa was gazing at her quizzically.

 _I used to be faster to take what I wanted_ , Daenerys thought, and then shrugged. _And I might as well be dead on the morrow._

With that thought, she laid a kiss on Sansa’s lips.

To her surprise, Sansa did not move away; she did not move at all, allowing Daenerys to kiss her for as long as she wanted.

“Come to sleep with me tonight,” said Daenerys eventually, breaking the kiss.

Sansa gave her more of the quizzical look, and did not say a word before she left the chamber.

 

III

The dragons were anxious throughout their journey west, excited to roar fire and wreak mayhem. Daenerys kept soothing them as well as she could, but the thought of the battle roused her spirits as well.

She had sent a perfunctory raven to Jon before leaving, knowing that at the time of her letter’s arrival it would be too late for him to stop her. But she had Sansa’s blessing, and for the time it was all that mattered.

The previous was one of the strangest nights in Daenerys’ life.

Sansa arrived when Daenerys was already giving up hope. They chattered for a time about the horrors of the war and Sansa’s remaining alone at the castle, until Daenerys dismissed her maids, and they were left to themselves.

They talked some more, lying in the bed, until, after some nonsensical remark, Daenerys plucked up the courage to kiss Sansa again, and they both fell quiet.

Having freed Sansa of her petticoat, Daenerys took some time to leave small kisses on her collarbones, on Sansa’s breasts, on the stretch marks on her belly. Still, Sansa said no word, not even when Daenerys’ tongue found its way to the delicate places between Sansa’s legs. Only her breathing grew quicker, and then, for a moment, she held Daenerys’ head with her hands, before, with a deep sigh, letting it go.

Daenerys could not very well recall the following sequence of events. She was certainly kissing Sansa again; and Sansa’s fingers were going all over Daenerys’ body, now touching her nipples, then stopping for a moment to trace the thin, curvy scar on Daenerys’ thigh, before disappearing between Daenerys’ legs. And certainly, there was a moment when the world consisted only of Sansa’s lips on Daenerys’ throat, and her fingers buried deep inside Daenerys.

They did not talk afterwards; in the morning Sansa was as composed and natural as if nothing had happened, and put Daenerys on the road with best wishes and a smile.

 _Perhaps this is for the best._ And if not, there would be plenty of time to set the matters right; the war would be over soon.

“The men need to rest. We should set camp, Your Grace,” told her one of her men at the nightfall. Daenerys nodded, and allowed them to take care of the matter, only making sure that the dragons were tended to properly.

When the camp was set, she spent some time watching the quickly darkening sky. Then she went into her tent, and, protected from the treacherous spring winds, fell asleep.


End file.
